


We're Not Dead Yet

by Cloudtrader



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Arizona Coyotes | Phoenix Coyotes, Edmonton Oilers, Erie Otters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5471039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudtrader/pseuds/Cloudtrader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You won't break if I touch you, right?”  Dylan was beaming at him, his flow all messed up like he hadn't brushed it after a shower.  Connor held out his arms for a hug and laughed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We're Not Dead Yet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/gifts).



> Takes place in early December, 2015.

It doesn't take him long to flee GTA for Pennsylvania. Dyls wouldn't be there right away, what with him actually getting to play hockey and all, unlike Connor, but Connor would rather hang around for a few scraps of affection from Dyls between games than face all the attention he's getting in Canada. It was nice to hang out with family and he'd gone out to UWO to visit Cam at Ivey, but he'd been on his own for awhile now, billets notwithstanding, and he'd missed his boy.

Connor knew he was an Oiler now, but he'd been an Otter first and longer. He was making some friends on his new team, but none of them were like Dylan. The NHL was a job first, and most of the guys didn't really spend much time together outside of games, training, and promo stuff. There was plane time, but it was different from bus time, somehow. He was used to playing with other guys, but he was just finding it harder to connect with the other Oilers. Getting injured and put on IR so early in the season probably didn't help with that.

It would have been nice to visit Dyls in Glendale, but whatever, he'd never say something like that to him. If it was really as hot as Dylan had claimed it was in Arizona, Conner probably wasn't missing much. There was no way it really got to 50 degrees there, right? The walls of the arena would melt, let alone the ice. Actually, he was kind of glad to be coming back to Erie instead of Arizona – everything was familiar, at least, and he could use that on his little mini-vacation. He had an appointment with the team trainers in three days and then a bunch of media to do and stuff to go over with Jeff Jackson about sponsorships... a couple of days to actually relax would probably help him heal, right?

 _See u soon, u might finally win sting pong w me playing w only 1 hand_ , he texted from the airport.

 _Dude, no sting pong 4 u. Also fuck you I own ur ass_ , was the reply he got back a bit later. Connor grinned down at his phone, already feeling some of the tension he was under melting away. It disappeared completely a few hours later when Dyls finally showed up to the hotel room he was renting.

“You won't break if I touch you, right?” Dylan was beaming at him, his flow all messed up like he hadn't brushed it after a shower. Connor held out his arms for a hug and laughed.

“As if you could break anyone, Stromer.” The hug was longer than normal, definitely not a goal-celly-joy hug or even an OMG-we-just-got-drafted hug, but a thank-god-we're-together-again hug. Dylan exhaled and they slumped together against the hotel room door.

“Damn, this wasn't how I was picturing us getting to see each other this season, you all banged up and me still in Erie.”

“Yeah,” Connor mumbled into Dylan's shoulder before pulling himself away and dragging Dylan onto the bed. “You wanna order room service?”

“Fuck yeah, and you're paying!” Connor laughed and got the phone. They ordered just about everything there was to order, with no thought to nutrition plans. Connor knew he wasn't the most fit rookie ever (screw Eichel and his better Combine score), but a few days of cheating wouldn't hurt.

“Do you have any other food around here? It's going to be forever before the food gets here.”

Connor dug around in his bag and pulled out some airport candy. “I've got a bag of Skittles and that's it.”

Dylan made grabby hands at it and Connor tossed them to him before settling next to him on the bed. “What, were you visiting Joni or something? You don't even like Skittles!”

“Dude, give up on the Joni thing, you're shit at nicknames. And I can eat Skittles if I want to. I haven't seen Marner, either.” He sighed, then glanced over at Dyls. “Lucky bastard,” they mumbled simultaneously, as they had been doing when he came up since the draft and Mitchell Marner went fourth overall. Mitch was more Dylan's friend than Connor's, but they both agreed that he didn't appreciate that he'd been drafted by the Maple Leafs as much as either of them would have if they'd gotten the lucky bounce. They were all three good Toronto boys, but the two of them agreed that Mitch had lived in serial killer city too long playing for the Knights to truly be altogether sane.

“I'm not shit at nicknames,” Dylan mumbled through a mouthful of Skittles.

“Sure, Pickles, sure, and Radish is totally a unique and creative nickname for Darren,” Connor smirked.

“Shut it, Davo!” Dylan whomped him with a pillow. Normally Connor would retaliate in kind, but while his shoulder wasn't in much pain, the memory of bones moving wrong inside and the thought of setting back his recovery stilled his hand.

There was a knock at the door then, saving him from further assault by pillow, the food having come in absolute record time. Connor got up to accept the food order. They spread out their feast on the bed and started digging in, shoulder-to-shoulder, Connor taking the right side so there was no accidental bumping against his injury.

“TV?” he asked, and Dylan nodded. Connor turned on something with explosions and got to eating.

“Too bad you don't have a setup here, we could play NHL '16 or something,” Dylan commented. They both paused for a moment, Connor remembering the last time they'd played that game together; with Cabbie watching and against Hanifin and Eichel. They'd won that game against the Boston boys, but now it felt like they were losing. The other two rookies were playing with the big boys and they... weren't. Judging by the face he was making, Dylan was thinking something along similar lines.

“Well, hey, maybe Coyotes rookies will get to win the Calder two years in a row now that I'm out,” Connor said, mostly not joking.

Dyls choked on a laugh. “Next year it's mine, for sure, but are you betting on Domi or Duclair for this year instead of Other-Dylan?”

“Other-Dylan is a Red Wing, ew.” They laughed.

“Can you say that with Babs as the new benchboss for the Leafs?”

“They're still division rivals, so yes, ew Red Wings.” They fist-bumped over their mutual disdain for the Wings. The memories of Toronto fans were long and gloating over last year's Winter Classic would never get old.

They ate and watched more explosions before Connor picked up the conversation again. “Did you get to meet Max's dog? You never said.”

“Yeah, I got to see Orion, but, like, not pet him or whatever. He's a working dog, so only Max is supposed to give him pets and stuff. Why, you still thinking about getting a dog?”

Connor set his plate down beside the bed, then scootched over to lean heavily against Dylan and get comfy. “I don't know. Maybe in another year or so. I just don't know if I can handle it right now.”

“I hear you,” Dylan said. He was still eating, so it came out a bit garbled.

“You have skate tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, you coming? The boys miss you.”

Connor thought. If he showed up to an Otters practice, there would be an endless media barrage covering it before nightfall. He was enjoying flying slightly under the radar. “Naw, I'll just rest and wait for you to come back and keep me company.”

“You could borrow a car and go see the Flyers/Islanders game tomorrow, cheer on your ginger idol.” Dylan chuckled and Connor pinched him for that. Playing in Pennsylvania, Dylan had chosen Sidney Crosby as his go-to answer of choice for who he modeled his game after and so of course Connor had to counter with Claude Giroux.

“Yeah, right, like I'm going to spend 6 hours in a car to go across the state. I'd rather go to Buffalo, and you know how much I don't want to do that,” he elbowed Dylan in the side at the snorted giggle Dylan let out. “How's your brother, by the way?” Connor asked.

Dylan shrugged. “Same. Ry likes the Islanders. He's mostly on the third line. Still dating the same girl.”

“Nice. It getting serious?”

“Who knows.” Dylan bumped Connor off his shoulder to reposition himself laying down on the bed. “He doesn't really talk to his little brothers about that, you know? Except to try to make Matt blush with embarrassing no-glove-no-love advice, you know?”

“Um, yeah. And I totally remember your lobster face a few times, too.”

There was a long pause before Dylan spoke again. “What about you? Find anyone nice up in oil country?” he asked softly. The TV explosions had died down and now seemed to have morphed into an old episode of _The X-Files_. The room was darker and more intimate.

“No, man. You know.”

“I know,” Dylan agreed.

“You crashing here tonight?” Connor asked.

“Yup, already told my billet. Gotta get in all the Davo time I can.”

“Good.” Edmonton didn't feel like home yet, and Toronto was too stifling to feel like home anymore, but in a basic hotel in Erie with his best friend in bed next to him, Connor felt the closest he'd come to home since he was 15 years old.

Dylan, being a hockey player, had to go and break the moment, of course.

“No homo, though,” Dylan said, for which Connor had to pinch him again, and this time much harder. “OK, OK, shit, a little bit of homo is fine, I guess.”

“For that, you have to get up and put the dishes outside the door, you dick.”

Dylan shoved Connor off his shoulder to get up, and Connor kicked off his pants and settled under the covers. “Such language! If only the hockey media knew that their savior said such things!”

“Shut up and get your pants off.”

Dylan laughed and turned off the light. “The romance is dead.”

Not yet, Connor thought as he wrapped his arms around Dylan. Thousands of miles and countries apart, but not yet.

**Author's Note:**

> I totally wrote this while wearing every piece of Coyotes merchandise I own.


End file.
